Whatever It Takes
by Glyphron
Summary: Fenris seeks to loosen Elvauni Hawke's guard a little and learn more about who she really is. Inviting her for a drink at his mansion, he manages to get her to relax and, due the heat of Kirkwall's summer, she sheds a couple of the layers of clothing she always wears. Revealing faded scars beneath and, with prompting, the reason she has become the way she is...


Her melodic laughter filled his ears, and he watched as she took another swig from the bottle in her grip. Weeks, even months, had passed since he had discovered the alternate life she led within the shadows. In that time he had come to discover who she was as a whole, not just the parts of herself she used as a front. He had found depths to her personality, sincerity in her expressions, and confessions of emotions she very rarely offered to anyone else. She became tempered towards him, more real. Understanding of her traits flourished in him.

She was an exceptional liar and did not hesitate to deceive, but, only when it achieved something. She could be cold if she felt like it, her wit was frighteningly sharp, her tongue dripped silver and she could talk people into any sort concept she willed. Yet, at the same time, she never did anything without reason. There was always a goal behind her manipulations, always something to be gained. Her perceptions of the world were very calculated. For all the ice in some of her actions, there was fire in others. She genuinely loved to play and joke, prominent antics in most everything she did when she relaxed. She had a blazing confidence for the most part and was even competitive. She enjoyed challenges, would never turn any of his down. And through a few rough experiences he had stumbled upon another secret of hers; she was very protective of the people she cared about. Though she denied this blatantly whenever accused of being as such.

For all that he had come to know of her, there were still many things that were hidden. Peices of her he had yet to catch a glimpse of. Secrets she held deeply buried within those toxic emerald eyes. And thoughts and emotions that were kept, locked, beneath her pale skin. He suspected there was more to her life than anyone could ever know. Sometimes he would wonder just what those eyes have seen and that heart has felt through the extent of her years. It was clear she knew pain intimately, he was certain of it. He did not understand how he knew, but he could sense it every time her presence drew near since the day he began to see her reality. Like she was an infected wound, constantly trickling blood from its rift in the flesh that made up the world. He had begun to notice that she always seemed slightly cloaked in shadow compared to everyone else.

Tonight, he had invited her to delight in a good drink with him inside the walls of his lonely mansion. She had accepted, and he had watched keenly as it loosened her muscles and softened the rigid control of her mind, allowing her to drink to her heart's content. All the while permitting himself to partake only a little. He was curious and wanted to see what else he might be able to discern about her if her inhibitions were weakened. He wanted to know more, although he wasn't too sure why that was. He respected her, she made no pardons for who she was. And she never seemed bothered by his own less admirable views and actions. She never berated him for his dark side, his hatred of mages and the lengths he would go to destroy slavers and Maleficarum. Never seemed perturbed by the use of his abilities to phase through objects or his apathy towards how he dealt with those he would use them on. He figured she might understand his own lethal feelings. He supposed it was because he felt that chance for mutual understanding that he was spurred to discover more. Therefore, he sought to continue this process of trading information about each to the other.

The heat of Kirkwall's summer had lingered long into the evening, and it had seeped into the multiple layers of clothing she always wore. Form fitting soft leather pants, long sleeved vest, and finger-less gloves with boots, bracers, and a thick belt with several pouches overlapping, all dyed in black. Underneath the vest peeked the neckline of a black shirt made from soft material, a hood merging from the hem. A red scarf twisted delicately around her throat, at the ready to cover lower half of her face if she needed her identity hastily concealed further than the shadow of a cowl. But, now, some of these items were being discarded as beads of sweat glossed her forehead. First came the scarf and bracers, followed by the vest and even the hooded sleeveless shirt beneath, revealing a strap of long dark cloth that wrapped around her bust, binding her chest tightly. It covered all hints of her cleavage down to the end of her rib cage, keeping her modest but still stirring a fluttering in his stomach as seeing only her arms bare was unusual.

She was, again, laughing. Probably at a clever comment she had uttered in light of his staring, but he had not heard her. She did not seem to care as she took yet another swallow, far beyond uneven at this point. Something on the fringes of his focus called his attention and, as she got up and turned her back to him to retrieve another bottle of wine from a nearby shelf, hers empty but still in hand, he came to realize why she kept covered.

Her skin had markings of its own, a great many faded and painful looking scars. He had caught glimpses of some on her front, and now studied them at her back. Just behind each shoulder blade and on either side at the base of her spine, large ones in a round shape. If he had to hazard a guess, it looked like she had suffered with being stabbed by red hot iron pikes. Across the rest of her back and sides, long thin ones in a mess all over and covered by her under wrappings. Evidence of being whipped far too harshly. Down the back of her neck was a wider line, as though her skin had been ripped open slowly by a dulled edge. He greatly suspected there were scars to equal the sight of these in various places on her front and down her legs.

"Those are nasty looking scars..." Fenris mentioned cautiously.

He hoped to entice her drunken state of mind into offering him a little bit about them. What he received brought him a twinge of regret and copious amounts of anger. He had assumed she had gotten captured by enemies of hers and tortured for information or something of the like. But, nothing could prepare him for the truth.

The bottle dropped to the floor, cracking and producing a few shards, but remaining whole otherwise.

"My... Scars..." her voice trembled a touch "I had forgotten..."

She was frozen in place, her eyes stuck to the floor at her feet, her right hand reaching back and ghosting over the scar at her neck. Then her fingernails bit into it, leaving streaks of red as they raked over the mark her hand falling to her side when it reached the scar's edge. Some blood seeped forth, enhancing their menacing concept. He watched this with difficulty, his stomach twisting into knots. Carefully, he moved from his chair, slipping up behind her right side worried she might cause herself more harm. Unsure of how she might react at any given moment, especially with her judgement impaired by her drunkenness that he had encouraged.

"What happened to you?" He inquired, voice hushed.

For a moment there was silence, and he thought she was not going to tell him. He decided not to press the issue, but, rather, to try and coax her into letting him help her redress and walk her home. However, her voice interrupted him, the sound of it seemed so far away.

"I saw them, every one of them as they wept you know. And there was no one to help them. The guards tried, but justice is slow. And, in the meantime, more would go missing every day..."

Elvauni Hawke took in every detail of her younger brother's desperate attempts not to cry. The way Carver quaked but stood tall, how he kept aggressively drying his eyes, the occasional sniffle, even his forced control of his breathing. Beside him, his twin and her younger sister, Bethany was openly displaying her despair with their mother and father fervently trying to comfort their children. Her green eyes turned to the now childless mother and father just before them. The mother struggled to stand in her grief the father supporting her, agony defining every feature. Their daughter, Clara, who had been Bethany's best friend and Carver's little crush, was gone. Disappeared like so many others had vanished, and none had ever come back. Indeed, they were not the first to lose something so precious, but among a terrifying great many.

Her own family had moved here not long ago, remaining within Ferelden, but changing the town to avoid having Bethany taken by Templars. This is something they did often, near routinely. Upon moving here, Clara had been exceptionally kind and friendship quickly thrived between the little girl and her siblings. It had been a wonderful change to the usual ignorant children they typically had to try and get to know. Elvauni herself had avoided most interactions with other children, her age or otherwise. Letting her brother and sister do all the socializing instead, while she tended to do her own thing. Regardless, however, of her disregard for the process of making close friends only to move again, sorrow began to swell within her.

How many adults had she passed in her wanderings who were darkened with incredible hurt at such loss? As she watched the scenes unraveling before her eyes, one among the myriads of thought processes that were always in motion within her head called attention above the rest. There were too many parents with missing children, most not careless in their parenting. Yet, despite their diligence, all was lost. Her mind proceeded to conceive something she simply could not stand for. Nothing stood in the way of her siblings ending up like all of those lost children. Gaurdsmen were always on a relentless search for the culprits, they even had suspects. But, how many more would be gone before they actually triumphed? She looked down at herself, an idea forming behind the color of her irises.

She was a 'child' of eleven, her birthday not long since passed. Pale skin made her appear meek, moderately long black hair enhanced this perception. Yet, she was not like other children. They saw the world in fantasy and make believe, while Elvauni saw reality and life challenges to conquer. While the other girls and boys played pretend, she was trying to expand her capabilities. Despite this, she still appeared the same as any other young girl. Which made her perfect bait.

There was no debate within the confines of her mind if this was a foolish idea as she slipped from her bed and home that night. There was little wonder if she could accomplish her desired goal. Her thoughts, which never let her rest until they were conceived and processed (and there were always things to think upon), had already rationalized all she needed to know. Her siblings were in just as much danger as she, or any other child from whatever predator of fate that stalked them. Elvauni knew she was not as helpless or submissive as others, and stood a better chance of making a difference. She understood that, whatever was causing the disappearances was very dangerous and must be met with utmost caution. She had already realized she may not be capable of bringing these incidents to a halt and might become one of them. And she knew, if she did nothing, this could happen to her, Carver, or Bathany regardless. She had to give her best to stop this, to complete the task set before the guards who were failing to make much progress.

She lurked about the town in the black barely pierced by the moon's rays, taking routes that were not lined with patrols, particularly ones that were narrow and more accessible to wandering children than armored adults. Her endeavors were rewarded as she came upon a pair of wily forms in a run down alleyway. Keeping to the shadows, her eyes were well adjusted to the dark and she could make out enough detail to accurately perceive what she faced. Slavers who were on their return from hidden vantage points they sheltered in during the day, snatching unwary children as they passed. They were surprised to see her about in her nightgown at this time of evening and all alone. But, a score was a score and she purposefully looked like a quick and easy catch.

She took off in the opposite direction, keeping her speed steadily out of reach as they dashed after her. Leading them down a few empty streets and other alleys, careful not make her actions appear too deliberate, she made sure to taunt them well with the chase. She did not lead them towards guard patrols, something she was slightly concerned would reveal she wanted to be caught. Elvauni doubted they would expose their fellows or hideout no matter the interrogation tactics the law enforcement would use, her faith in them had waned. If slavers were indeed the reason for vanishing children, it would be far more efficient for them to take her directly to their secrets. And, if she was correct in her theory, she could end it from the inside. It was not very likely she could, but she had already prepared to undertake any task no matter how daunting. She would do whatever it took.

She made a "wrong" turn, cornering herself for them at a dead end. She did her best to show them fear, letting some of her nerves display on the surface to help make it convincing as they approached. They warned her not to scream, brandishing deadly weapons at her. This added a hint of real fear to her facade, but her bravery held firm and she squeaked, putting more into her act. Each taking hold of one of her arms, the dragged her away as she froze herself up and worked her heartbeat into a frenzy.

They took her on an elaborate route to a noble's home in the nicer part of town, dodging patrols entirely. Going through an entrance in the back, it led down into the cellar where makeshift cages lined the walls, like a grotesque kennel. Two were occupied with other bewildered children like herself. She was caged beside them and left for a time as they took the boy from confinement, leaving her alone with another girl. He looked bruised and battered as they hauled him away, and there were dark bags under his eyes. She suspected he had been here the longest of the two and judging by his reaction towards them, his beatings were most likely conditioning to give him the temperament of a slave.

Elvauni did wish she could reach out and help him. She did not want to see him carried off to be sold as a slave to some Tevinter bigot, Maker no. But, she was very much aware that she was powerless to save him and so watched him go in silence. His face would never leave her memory as long as she drew breath, she knew it would haunt her forever. She turned to look at the girl beside her in the next cage, a pretty brunette with copper skin and chocolate colored eyes. She was frantically fidgeting with everything around her, her hands bloodied from picking at the cage in desperation to be free. All the while muttering, "No. no. no. no. NO. I don't want to... Maker please, I don't want to... Don't want... Don't want... Please don't make me, please..."

Elvauni whispered to her, trying to comfort her and she twisted her face towards towards Hawke in a very haggard way. Her eyes spilled horror, dark bags shadowing her lower lids as well. Sobbing in utter terror she told Elvauni how soon it would be her turn, hinting that whatever it was she was going to face then was worse than being sold as a slave girl, but refusing to explain what that was. She, just shook and rocked and continued to murmur, her sanity clearly frayed. Elvauni examined the locks to both her own and the raving girl's cell, trying to figure out if it was possible she could pick them. She had never attempted such a feat before, but, she would do whatever it took.

Meanwhile, as she sought to form a plan, she bided her time. Watching and listening as the slavers went about their business. It was clear they were the cause of missing children now, but, what was their rhythm? What gave them such success? The answers were all here. They had a very organized and strict code of conduct, with good sources of information about guard activity and how to avoid the law while kidnapping the young and helpless. Their ambush sites were very methodic and they had the added protection of operating within a noble's home, who was aiding and making profit off of their exports from what she could tell. They kept to a curfew, all of them returning to pass the night when the guards were most active in their search and uninhibited by the needs of citizens.

Elvauni quickly learned the torment they unleashed on their victims. They deprived both she and the girl of any sleep, bringing them out of the cages every once in a while. They would then demand tasks from both and punish them for any mistakes or failings. For Elvauni, she started with simple things. Filling glasses and mugs with more mead from the cellar's reserves and such. For her fellow child in bondage, she would be required to do more complex things. And, that was not all... They forced her to do many other things that no child should ever be made to do, though they did not take her maidenhood outright. Now Elvauni was afraid, and even sick with vehemence.

The brunette haired girl was very submissive, she worked very hard to avoid beatings. Yet, that did not matter much. Towards the next evening, before they dragged her away as they had the boy, they beat her soundly warning her that it would be a constant in the life she faced if she ever messed up. In between the time of her arrival and of the other child's departure, they had begun to demand more difficult things from Elvauni. She already knew the pattern and what was coming next. She was forced to watch, yet once more, as the other girl disappeared never to be seen again. The image of her face burning into her eyes and memory as well.

Elvauni had no way of picking the locks and had abandoned that idea almost entirely long ago. She had figured there was only one way out. That was through the slavers that littered this despicable mansion. There would only be one window of opportunity, a time when they would release her to indulge them in requested jobs and orders. However, merely attempting to run away would not avail, especially now that there was yet another little child who had arrived recently. He was a dark haired and strong looking boy who reminded her of Carver. And every now and again she would feel twinge of panic that it was he until she remembered he was indeed not her brother. And it drove her to an edge she never knew existed within her. She could not leave him behind. And she could not escape and leave these slavers here to continue their terrible work. She would do whatever it took...

A plan had already formed in her mind and she held it close for comfort, despite its horrid nature. She had seen rat traps about the cellar, and knew there would be rat poison somewhere. There was always a task they asked of her, primarily because she had good balance and was quick and efficient at getting it done. Always, she was asked to refill the cups and mugs. If she could get them to request this of her at the evening meal, when everyone returned to pass the night and celebrate the wretched coin they were making, she could possibly locate the poison and slip it into their drink. This time, there was a brief debate within herself if she should or even could do such a thing. Frighteningly, it was quickly overcome and she found she was alright with the idea of killing them. She did not even feel remorse at the idea, and she wondered if perhaps she was just as evil as they were.

All traces of hesitation were destroyed throughout the day as they made various demands of her that were far to foul to tolerate. She refused, fought against their will. And she was harshly punished for it. For every refusal, she was given some type of torture. At first, it began with a simple lashing, something not too harsh and that would heal without leaving evidence. But, she would not relent and they became suddenly severe with their responses to her denial.

They warmed iron pokers in the fireplace, removing her dirt stained nightgown, they burned the soft flesh of her inner hips, thighs, and the back of her knees. Still she would not give in, so they whipped her so hard it left great gashes across her back and sides. Yet, still she continued to persist in her struggle against them. They took shards of glass from discarded wine and ale bottles and slowly cut open the skin as they slid it across the back of her neck, cutting up her feet by forcing her to walk through broken glass, and even scratching at one of her eyes a little before moving to the next phase. They brought back the heated iron pikes and, for every no she screamed, they jabbed one into her flesh somewhere. Behind each shoulder blade, on each side next to her spine on her lower back, and through the soft flesh behind her collar bones. Through it all she passed out several times from such agony, finally coming to submit at the end, her greatest shame. Fate spared her, however... For something much worse to come.

One of her abusers finally dropped the idea that they should just take her maidenhood and see how much spite she held afterward. But, another stopped him revealing that only the boss got the privilege of taking each child's virginity before selling them off. He proceeded to tell the first slaver that time was nearing for them to offer her up to him. Panic hit her hard for the first time and she nearly lost sight of her hazardous plan. But, not quite... Whatever it TOOK...

To her relief they stuffed the nightgown back on her and sent her to do just as she'd hoped. After a few seconds of grovelling in gratitude to her 'masters', she set out to follow their commands. They warned her to make haste, or else. Painfully she limped to the table set up near the fire place and gathered the drinking containers. As she hurriedly shoved them onto treys, she noticed a knife next to a plate stacked with slices of lamb which was to be consumed for the evening meal. It was not meant for carving the meat, the knife for which jammed in the meat itself, but it was apart of the silverware. The use for such an item instantly flashed before her sight, her thoughts and emotions stabilizing into one desire alone. She stashed it with the cups, barely managing to keep from getting caught and rushed away to do as she was told.

No one followed her to ensure she completed it without incident, all more concerned with filling their bellies. And it was clear that they viewed her as harmless after her breakdown at the end of her torture. They assumed she was a broken animal now, more than utterly obedient and whatever rebellious urges she might hold would be swiftly destroyed by their boss. So they were not concerned.

She sped along as fast as her torn up feet would allow, desperately searching for the poisoned grain used in the traps. locating it with eagerness, she filled a mug with some, then another, just in case. Then she limped to the barrels of mead, climbing up to the top of them with difficulty, mugs in hand. Using the knife that she had relocated to rest firmly against her hip between her skin and the edge of her underwear, she poked holes in the top and slowly poured a mug of poison into each. This took her far too long and she was afraid someone would come looking for her and discover her plot. She feared what they would do to her then, but the singular goal her mind enforced made her see it through to the end.

She had just jumped back to the floor and had bent down to replace the mugs on the treys, when a slaver came stomping up behind her. He demanded what was taking her so long, and she begged his forgiveness telling him she tripped. He threatened that he would beat her further for her insolence if he had the time, but settled for a wicked lash across her face with his hand. He told her there was now no time for her to fill them, and she worried her plan may not work after all. But, they were demanding the boy finish her task as they pulled her away towards a flight of stairs leading to the main house and to their boss.

Nervous, but no longer afraid as her plan was in the works and she was too exhausted to feel something so strong, she let him drag her along without complaint. He took her past fine house decor and well lit rooms that hurt her eyes after spending so long in the dimly lit cellar. Grabbing her by the hair, he hauled her up another flight of stairs to a bedroom on the top floor. The noble's room. The slaver did not hesitate to enter it with her in tow, shoving her at his feet as he sat upon the bed. With acknowledgement of respect for the demonic man, her escort left, not even bothering to close the door. Man servants did that for him.

She remained on her knees as the noble inspected her, commenting on how bloodied and gritty she appeared but coming to settle that she was good enough. He slid his hands over her, barely missing the hidden knife with his fingertips as he groped. she did not move, did not cry, did not gasp, and barely trembled. In her mind she barely felt his hands and fingers as they prodded places that were taboo to touch. Her mind only thought on thing, all other thoughts gone and she felt clarity and focus as she had never before. He thought she was helpless that she could not do anything to stop him. He thought he was the predator, the one who held the power over her life.

Drawing her up from the floor and close, his tongue flicked across her jawline, and he paused after to whisper, "You don't seem to be afraid. Why is that?"

She hated him. She HATED them all. She wanted them all dead and this desire utterly consumed her. They were terrible demons not even people. She thought about the little boy who so closely resembled Carver. She thought about the idea of what if it had been him and the hatred exploded within her chest pouring black and vile feelings into her heart. Ever so carefully she slipped the knife from its hiding place. WHATEVER IT TOOK...

A faint smile crossed her lips as she answered, "Because I am no victim."

A pang of confusion crossed his face before it was taken by pain as she jabbed the blade into his neck, cutting off any screams he might try to utter. Then to his chest, his eye, his stomach, she just kept thrusting the knife into his body over and over... whatever it took... She didn't feel sadness or disbelief at what she was doing, but thrill... whatever it took... Like a drug that brought relief and pleasure, addicting and so good to feel... whatever... it... took...

The next thing she remembered was seeing sunlight stream through his bedroom windows. She had sat next to the corpse murdered by her hands, enduring such wondrous and terrifying feelings and revelling in what she had done the whole night through. Until now, the daylight crept in forcing back the darkness in her heart. With it's retreat fled emotion and she was utterly numb. Her mind thought clearly, calculatedly, though she knew her exhaustion would overtake her sometime soon. She, moved from the bed and crept out of the room, passing dead manservants that lay upon the floor throughout the mansion. They had partaken of the slaver's mead and shared their fate.

Back down into the dim cellar she went, searching for that boy who must still be trapped. But as she reached the tomb she had created in her endeavors, he was no where to be found. Perhaps he had fled when their captors began to choke on their drinks, falling and writhing on the floor until death took them. Hopefully he had run far away from this place, and from her, his wicked savior who only spared him from being raped and sold. Not from the actual nightmare that was this place. She fell to her knees, too tired and hurt to move any farther.

A dagger suddenly appeared against her throat, the warmth of a stranger standing behind her brushing her back. A slaver or man servant who had survived and sought to avenge her treachery. She did not care. When she gave no reaction, the blade fell away from her neck and her company shifted away from her a little, coming to stand before her rather than behind.

"No fear... Hmmm..." He expressed aloud prompting her to look up.

He was hooded and masked and covered in knives and viles filled with various liquids. An assassin, Elvauni had heard of them. He studied her, seeming unsurprised that she remained silent.

"I come all this way to remove such deplorable scum from the face of Thedas, only to watch a little girl do my job for me."

She gawked at him in slight confusion.

"Oh, yes, I've been here since a little before they finished torturing you. I could tell you were planning something, it was all in your eyes, though these fools failed to see it. I wanted to see what you would do. Forgive me for not rescuing you from such merciless pain, but, at the time I was not in any position to do so."

For some strange reason, Elvauni did not care that he hadn't come to her aid. She did not care about anything. She let her eyes fall back down to the floor before her.

"Tell me, little one. Why did you do it?" He asked her as her eyes left him.

"I did it because they were hurting people, they were hurting me. They could have hurt them... I did it because I... I hate them... They deserved to die." The last part came out with such conviction and he understood.

"If it is your will, I can take you on as my apprentice. I can teach you skills by which you can use to kill all those you hate and even use to protect THEM. But, it is a hard path to walk, little one. and, ultimately, it will be you who decides whether you use your skills to hunt those who prowl Thedas, hurting the innocent, or to become a predator who prowls for her own whims. What you do with what you'll learn is in your hands alone."

"Why offer me this?"

"You have incredible potential from what I have just seen. You think before you act, you keep yourself quite calm in difficult situations. You are brave, nearly fearless, and have a very strong will and dedication to your resolve. And you are willing to do whatever it takes... all traits of an assassin."

"If I accept, you will train me. And if I refuse?..."

"Then we part ways and we will not see each other again."

Upstairs a commotion was suddenly raised. The sounds of armed and armored guardsmen came calling down to their ears as they broke into and searched the mansion.

"Ah, they finally arrive. It's been some time since that little boy ran off. I was beginning to wonder if they would ever get here. Best decide quickly, little one. What is your answer?"

Elvauni took a mere moment to think. Justice was slow, too slow. And the law had trouble getting past status and money behind which criminals could hide. Her experiences were solid evidence of this fact. But an assassin could bypass all of that. Noble or beggar, all targets were the same in a hunter's eyes. They could act and stop thugs like these before such damage was done. Or, at least, that's what she intended for herself. She had already gone too far, there was no turning back now. The blood that drenched her hands were a powerful testament of her depravity. At least this way she could put it to good use. Refusing was never really an option.

"I accept." She gave her consent with sincerity.

He gathered her into his arms and they disappeared into the shadows, Elvauni finding solace in the arms of another killer more experienced than herself. They were undoubtedly one of a kind, cruel as much as they were considerate. She wasn't the only one and that made things better, acceptable, for the time being. Whatever it took...

She finished recounting her harrowing tale right there in front of him as he looked on in shock. She left him with her reasons for why she became the death bringer she was, continuing toward her destination to retrieve another bottle. He stared after her, sharing in her hatred of the heartless men that salvers were. His own lifetime had pushed him to become much the same way, and he saw that they were not so different at all. They both went to extremes if it were necessary, both carried vehement hatred, both bore the scars of their pasts, and both hurt beyond repair. The difference was only their methods.

"I am sorry... For your suffering... Anything I could tell you would be insufficient, there's no words that can lessen such a burden. I know this all too well." He offered in earnest.

She turned, her face cracking into a devilish smile, "Oh, I don't need words of pity. There's only one way to make it hurt less, not that it pains me much these days. You drink until the demons stop calling your name."

He smirked himself, understanding exactly what she meant. Whatever it takes...


End file.
